The Road to Deleana
by alowlypotato
Summary: Ever wonder what Max's mom was like? How she wound up at Manticore, what happened while she was there, when and if she ever escaped? Well, this is her story. Re-written.
1. One

A/N: It should be known that this is a prequel to 'Relative Perspective.' However, you do not have to read 'RP' to be able to understand and (hopefully) enjoy this. Both stories are separate entities and both can be read as such. They just both happen to exist within the same universe, is all.  
  
Anywho...on with the tale.  
  
*******  
  
She sat nervously in the corner of the stark, gray waiting room, fisting her fingers in the bottom of her oversized shirt. It was ragged, a hand-me-down, a reminder of why she was here in the first place. She had been raised in an environment that forced her to regard money as the most precious of commodities. It bordered on representing life itself, and god knew that she was in need of a new one. So was her mother, her frazzled, overworked mother who wasn't strong enough to stay away from the bottle, and the woman's failing health was what had finally prompted Kristina to turn to such measures as she was presently taking. She was studying at the community college on financial aid and a special scholarship awarded to low income students, and she knew that she had a chance to make things right for herself, but her mother was too far gone for that now. Her mother needed help, and this experiment was going to provide for that.   
  
She looked around the room, taking in the other girls, wondering about their motives and their ages. It looked to her as if she, at nineteen, might be one of the oldest in attendance. It was a very probable reality; the ad had specified that the subjects be between the ages of 16 and 21. She highly doubted that the majority of the bright, young faces surrounding her belonged to drinking-age individuals. She couldn't decide whether to consider this a good or bad thing.  
  
A door opened perpendicular to where she sat and there entered a professional-looking woman in a clean, white lab coat, bearing a clipboard and a granite expression of indifference. She scanned over the young women gathered before her, regarding them coldly; Kristina suddenly found herself feeling the equivalent of a disposable lab rat or guinea pig, and had to wonder why so many of her companions seemed so eager to get on with it, to jump right in.   
  
There was something strange about this, something that Kristina couldn't quite place but which was becoming increasingly apparent. Until only recently, she had brushed aside the warning signs. The oath of secrecy she had to take, the convoluted contract she had to sign, the fact that what little information had been given to her about the experiment was vague and general. She knew that it was a medical experiment and that she would have to return to this facility for observational check-ups every few weeks for the next year; that was all. She had attempted inquiry into the particulars of the project, but had essentially been patted on the head and told that she need not concern herself with such things. That variety of treatment worried her, but her desire for the generous compensation that she had been promised overrode that.  
  
The issue of money was another thing that bothered her. Her financial background had come under scrutiny, and they had seemed relieved, almost pleased when they learned of her poverty and single-parent household. She had reassured herself, inwardly insisting that such concern was the product of a desire to do some measure of good. What would a rich woman gain from this? Nothing. It was the poor who needed the money.  
  
But now that she was here, in a building that seemed more shady and "black market" than professional and scientific, her stomach was once again churning with anxiety, and it was growing harder to rationalize her fears. She considered, however, that it was normal to feel nervous before something like this, and that soon, she'd find that there was nothing abnormal about it at all and she'd go on with her life, flush with the knowledge that in one year's time, she and her mother would be one step closer to climbing out of the proverbial ditch.  
  
"All right, girls, listen up," the woman in the lab coat suddenly commanded. Kristina, having lost herself in her thoughts, started at the sound of the voice. "We're going to have to move you to a different facility. We're experiencing some...difficulties with the equipment in this building, and we don't want to take any chances with it. Trust me, your health over the next few months is our biggest concern."  
  
Her tone was oddly sinister and Kristina shuddered.  
  
"Now, you'll be taken there in three groups. The first group consists of..." She paused to look over her clipboard. "...Carolyn Ashford, Anita Benton, Sandra Cromley, Rena Davis, Lina Donovan, Carmen Ortiz, and Kristina Santos."  
  
Kristina bristled at the call of her name and rose uncertainly when she and the others were instructed to come forward, to follow out the door whoever this woman happened to be. The seven of them were ushered out the door and straight into a vehicle that could only be described as armored transport. The men that accompanied them into the back of the very obviously military truck were decked out in standard BDUs and helmets, and brandished their fair share of hefty weaponry. The world began to spin into a surreal haze as the truck pulled away from the "facility," humming loudly as it carried Kristina and the others off to god knows where. The fears, the worries, the nervousness...they all could be denied no longer, not now, not when she was seated beside a soldier, an armed soldier, who looked more than ready to use his weapon should she or her fellows move the wrong way. There was no reason for military types to be involved in a medical experiment, so it was only natural to conclude that this was not your typical experiment, that whatever the seven of them now faced together was not as innocuous as it might first have seemed. She felt bile rising up through her stomach and into her throat as it dawned on her that it was too late, that there was no turning back now. Her fate was sealed and she wanted to curl up in a cold, dark corner and cry herself to sleep.  
  
*******  
  
The women and soldiers lurched forward and crashed into each other when the truck finally came to an abrupt stop. In the space of an hour and a half, days had passed for Kristina and her companions, days of fear and uncertainty and the burgeoning awareness that they might not be going home, at least not for quite some time. The fact that they had at last arrived at their destination did nothing to quell their anxiety; instead, it only quickened their pulses and sent fresh waves of apprehensive adrenaline through their veins. It didn't help that they were now being blindfolded, their vision fading into blackness as their hands were bound. Soft, frightened whimpers could be heard all around but no one paid any mind, no one bothered to care. The hands that "prepared" them and shuffled them into the open were hard and callused and the voices that barked at them to move and to be silent were cold and rough. It felt as the dawning of a nightmare, heightened by the sensation of the cool winter air on their arms and faces.  
  
There was concrete for a ways, and every now and then the sound and texture of crunching snow registered with them. Mostly, they just heard the sounds of their own breathing, resonating loudly in their ears, ragged and quick. Kristina wondered again why she hadn't paid attention to her instincts, why she had ignored that which should have tipped her off. There were other ways for her to get money. This was not worth it, not in the least. Besides, with the way they were treating she and the others, what was the likelihood that she would be getting any money out of this? These people were probably going to use up their young "volunteers" and then throw them back onto the streets, utterly empty-handed. No one would take seriously the ravings of a bunch of poor girls. No one would believe that this was what had happened to them. If the military were truly involved, they'd make certain of that.  
  
The young women were ordered to be still for a moment and it quickly became apparent that their captors were opening some sort of door. A rush of warm air hit them and they were promptly ushered into the new "facility" of which the woman in the lab coat had spoken. The dead sound of concrete was replaced with the gentle tapping of tile, and even through her blindfold, Kristina could detect the change in lighting. It was relatively dark in here. It seemed much too dark to be the inside of a building, and there was something unsettling about that perception. But then, it might simply be the blindfold that was causing Kristina to register things in such a way. She hoped that she'd find out soon. The lack of vision only served to make the experience more frightening.  
  
The group traveled a considerable distance through the maze of corridors that was this building. Down a flight of stairs or two, past sounds and shadows that worked their way down the spines of each of the girls and chilled them, made their stomachs tighten. There were voices, normal voices from people who were probably normal but there were also cries, and the humming of machinery that sounded like it could be of the standard medical variety but might be something more disturbing. Sometimes there was the faint pound of marching feet or the high-pitched wail of an infant. Imaginations ran wild and conjured up images of torture, of soldiers testing new warfare techniques on civilians, of mad scientists having their way with random victims, of the brand of monster that one leaves at the door of their childhood bedroom. A collective shudder ran through the "volunteers" every now and then and Kristina could feel the irritation of the soldiers who led them. These men were not used to fear. They were trained to repress it and to abhor its presence in others. 'If only I could be so strong,' Kristina thought wistfully.  
  
At last they were told to be still once again, and all trembled at the noise of what sounded like the opening of cell doors. Anita Benton was yanked roughly from her companions and she sighed in relief when she felt her restraints being loosened. She wanted to retract that sigh, however, when said restraints were not fully removed; she was capable of more movement than she had been but it was still limited. Her blindfold was then removed and the others heard her gasp, heard the shock and despair in her erratic breathing, winced when she cried out and they heard her stumble and then there was the closing and locking of a heavy door and the words "no" and "please" were abruptly cut off.   
  
Carmen Ortiz was next, and then Kristina got her turn, shaking, wanting to struggle but not possessing the strength or the courage. She knew what was coming; she knew that they were being locked up. It wasn't hard to figure it out. But what distressed her more than the knowledge of her impending fate was the knowledge that she was powerless to stop it, that there was absolutely nothing that she could do.  
  
When her blindfold was removed, she blinded rapidly, having grown accustomed to the darkness of the cloth. She was quickly able to handle the dim light of the hallway and she peered around frantically, hating the fact that though she could now clearly see her surroundings, she still had no idea where she was. Wherever it happened to be, it resembled a basement that had been forgotten; cold, dark, the walls a steely gray. She could not make out any windows, which brought to her the prospect of being without sunlight and she wanted to cry over that. She took in the small cells that lined the hallway, just as dark and uninviting as where she now stood and along with crying she wanted to vomit. A choked sob escaped her and the stoned soldier who stood before her took that as his cue. He shoved her forcefully backwards, and she couldn't keep on her feet and soon found herself lying on her back in her new "home," pain passing through her and distorting her expression. She let out a single cry, and then the door was shut and she realized with dismay that she had left her hope on the other side of it. 


	2. Two

Had time blinked out of existence? It might as well have. There were no longer seconds, or minutes, or hours. There were only moments; long, tedious moments that were indistinguishable from one another. The moment when a few guards arrived with food and the moment when the lights were replaced with an oppressive darkness both seemed wholly arbitrary, allotted their specific purpose on the whim of whoever was in charge of this place. There was no routine, no schedule. Only the cell, with its depressing absence of color and décor and its stark, tiny cot in the corner. All that happened outside happened in an entirely separate world.  
  
The solitude and confinement afforded one quite the opportunity to think. There was no guarantee that the thoughts would be pleasant, however. Kristina spent hers on convincing herself worthy of some all-encompassing guilt. She had entered into this with the well being of her mother in mind, but her brash eagerness had now cost her not only her freedom, but also her ability to help. What was her mother to do without her? The woman could hardly get by on her own. Kristina had moved in with a friend about a year and a half ago, sick of her mother as people at that age often are and naively believing that the two of them would be better off if they were apart. Instead of helping the situation, though, it only aggravated it, and it was soon quite clear to Kristina that her mother was not strong enough to live by herself. She needed support, she needed encouragement, she needed someone to help her stay sober for as long as possible. Kristina provided all of that, and now she was gone from the poor woman's life, and there was no telling for how long.  
  
It would be much different this time around. Kristina would not be a few streets away. She would not be reachable by bus or phone or letter, and the possibility of her return would be uncertain, sketchy at best. No one would be able to offer any information in regards to her whereabouts, and if this was a military organization, then they could easily buy the efforts of the police. Mrs. Santos would surely fall quickly and devastatingly into despair and her job wouldn't matter anymore and AA would fade into the background and cash would be converted to liquid and consumed by the pint. She would be overcome with all that she had been trying to fight, and in the opinion of her daughter, it was all Kristina's fault.  
  
"Why d'ya gotta be so goddamned stupid?" she whispered to herself, curling into a ball on the cot. A few tears stained the coarse linen sheets before she fell into a restless sleep.  
  
*******  
  
She awoke to the sound of shouting and the reverberations of a forceful rapping at her cell door. For a moment she was confused and struck with panic; the comfortingly familiar walls of her room were gone, and the worn but cozy bed on which she usually lay had been replaced by a hard and uninviting cot. As the events of the previous afternoon returned to her, the panic transformed into the brand of anxiety only recognizable to the depressed. She sighed heavily and tightly shut her eyes, half believing that if she willed it hard enough, she could reverse all that had happened and when she opened her eyes again, she'd be safely back in her room. And she'd walk out into the main part of the apartment and her mother would be curled up on the couch, lost somewhere in what was hopefully a very pleasant dream, and all would be well. All would be as it should.  
  
"Didn't you hear me? WAKE UP!"  
  
The voice, which coincided with yet another impossibly loud rap at the door, startled Kristina into a half-sitting position. She leaned on one elbow, gazing toward the door, eyes wide with fear and nervousness, and through the small, bar- and Plexiglas-covered porthole of a window, she took in the hardened face of a young guard. He sneered impatiently at her and motioned for her to stand with a few quick nods of his head. She did as instructed, her motions sloppy but rapid, her restraints rattling from the ministrations of her shaking limbs. There was the heavy sound of an immensely strong lock being undone and she stiffened as the door began to swing open. What were they going to do to her, to all of them? What terrors awaited them in the floors above? Would their anguished cries intermingle with those that they had heard upon their entrance? A multitude of such questions filtered through Kristina's mind, further tightening her nerves as the guard entered and took her by the arm. He pulled her out into the corridor and then shoved her into the other girls, who stumbled and grabbed onto each other and tried to huddle as close together as was possible. They needed to borrow strength from one another. They needed to know that none of them were alone in this, especially after having spent what felt like such a long time alone in their cells.  
  
After a few brief moments, the young women were forced into single file by the guards and ordered to move forward, to follow the one who had taken the lead. The same petrified silence of yesterday overtook them, but this time, the heaviness of the mood was lightened by a natural sense of curiosity. The girls had not been blindfolded this time. They now had the opportunity to take in the appearance of their new "home," and though it really wasn't much to look at, the fact that it was where they were being held captive made it interesting and worthy of scrutiny.  
  
As they were herded up a set of stairs into a higher level of the building, the scenery changed and their veritable prison began more to resemble a school. The rectangular light fixtures that plastered the ceiling were soft and fluorescent, the floor was comprised of the standard interlocking tile and the walls were lined with bulletin boards and the occasional alarm. The rooms by which they passed were filled with either desks or mats, the kind of mats upon which Kristina had done sit-ups in gym class. The decidedly eerie thing about all of it was that it seemed as yet unused, as if the lonely classroom amenities themselves were patiently waiting for something, for some special event to signal that the time was right and that they could at last be put in the service of students. The question that possessed a potentially disturbing answer was what kind of "students" would be attending a school such as this? The sounds of infants had been heard the day before; were they raising children here? And if they were, what kind of child needed to be raised by the military? Kristina didn't think she wanted to know.  
  
The group rounded a corner, and then the girls were ushered into one of the "classrooms." It was instinctive for them to move toward the desks, to want to sit down, but uncertainty and fear of punishment kept them in the front of the room, staring meekly down at their feet or glancing from time to time at the guards, communicating non-verbally their desire to be given instructions. It occurred to Kristina how pathetic this was, how they were all handing over control of themselves without so much as a reluctant grimace. The power that presently compelled them was mostly mental, a psychological trap. But Kristina was not so headstrong that she didn't recognize the swift ability of that power to switch over into the physical; seven young women in bondage were no match for five trained and heavily armed guards.  
  
The guards only smiled at their charges, seemingly taking delight in the plight of Kristina and the others. Perhaps they were the type who got off on exercising their authority? One of the girls, Rena, unconsciously mumbled and epithet and in turn, one of the guards glared menacingly at her until she had to turn away and shut her eyes, feeling suddenly very base and humiliated. Disgusting. Positively disgusting.  
  
It wasn't until another group of twelve entered the room that it became quite obviously necessary to sit down and each "volunteer" began to take a seat, without ever having been told to do so. Many felt silly for having feared repercussion for such innocent action; they must look like fools, and the Cheshire grins that lightened the features of a few of the guards only encouraged such thoughts.   
  
Within minutes, another group entered, and then another, until guards lined each side of the room shoulder-to-shoulder and all forty-two desks were taken. The amount of people that had been crammed into this one room surprised Kristina, and she was saddened by the realization that the "facility" in which she had waited before this nightmare had began was quite possibly not the only one of its kind. Another, more random though entered her mind: where on Earth did they get the funding for something like this? She wanted to giggle at the silliness of such an inquiry but such seemed highly inappropriate at the moment.  
  
Soon after all the girls had gotten themselves settled, a staunch, professional-looking man entered, his face still somewhat young but betraying experience and steadily increasing age through its defined lines and worn features. He was a little short, slightly chubby but not too much, and he carried himself confidently, authoritatively, his shoulders squared and his head held high and his lips pursed and his eyes flashing with a deep sense of purpose. There were a few isolated wisps of gray in his charcoal hair, but he couldn't be much farther on in years than his mid-30s, maybe even younger than that.  
  
It made sense that the guards reflexively brought their feet together and straightened their backs at this man's entrance. The very aura of his being screamed "power;" he seemed the picture of a typical military general or colonel, despite the fact that he simultaneously seemed young to have so high a rank. Some were gifted and climbed the ladder quickly, as it was with anything.  
  
"At ease," he commanded briskly, taking a seat on the edge of the large "teacher's" desk that rested in the front of the room. The sound of thirty men and women at once separating their legs just less than shoulder-width apart echoed through the room and made the already eerie pseudo-classroom atmosphere downright bizarre. Kristina was certain that such classrooms existed at some normal military bases, specifically those where basic training was held, but this was anything but normal.  
  
"Good morning," the man at the front of the room suddenly greeted them. His voice was loud and penetrating, with a stern edge to it -- as remarkably authoritative as his appearance. "I'm Colonel Lydecker. It's a pleasure to finally be in your presence." Attentions effectively held, the girls simply stared at him, watching and listening intently out of sense of fearful reverence.  
  
"I'm sure that the biggest question on all of your minds right now is in regards to where you are. Now, we can't tell you everything, for what I believe are quite obvious reasons. However, I am going to let you know as much as I can without jeopardizing the project. You HAVE to know in order to understand just how important all of you are. You must know how very much we need you, or it's possible that we could lose you to your own despair. I'm not going to lie to you; there have been suicide attempts." A collective gasp rose up from among the women. SUICIDE attempts? What exactly was going to be done to them? "Only one was successful," Lydecker continued, almost reassuringly. "It happened back when we first began the program. But the mindset itself is dangerous. We cannot allow you to reach that point.  
  
"So, how this is going to work is very simple. Loyalty and good behavior will be rewarded with certain freedoms. But be forewarned that even though you may gain these freedoms, you'll still be under heavy surveillance and subject to regular psych evaluations and random searches. It's for both our protection and yours. The process that you are about to undergo is still somewhat experimental in nature. Should you be allowed to leave before it is complete, you will be without our guidance and without our medical attention, and trust me, you do NOT want to be in a position where no one understands the delicacies of your condition.  
  
"What is this place? It is called Manticore. It is a government organization, as I'm sure some of you have guessed. Extremely covert. Most other government organizations and agencies are unaware of our existence, and of course the American public is utterly clueless. No one on the outside would believe that we exist, which is why only we can help you now.  
  
"The purpose of this organization is to create a superior human, an ultimate soldier, through genetic engineering and intense military indoctrination. In the earliest days of the project, we tried 'growing' these individuals artificially, but with expensively substandard results. That is where you come in. You, ladies, are among those who are going to be surrogate mothers to our little super soldiers. Consider yourselves lucky. You're at the forefront of modern technology. In fact, you're going to be participating in it. You're going to be participating in the creation of an army that could do immeasurable good for our country, for our entire world. Remember that. Whenever it seems hopeless, or we seem as though we're being too...'cruel,' remember how terribly important you are, and how terribly important this project may very well be."  
  
He fell into silence for a moment, letting them absorb his words, letting the message slowly sink in. An epidemic of shock and nausea swept through the room.  
  
"Now," Lydecker began again, almost cheerfully, as he jumped to a standing position, "I'll have the guards lead you to the mess hall. It's important for you all to have some measure of social contact with one another, and I'll bet you're all rather hungry at this point. Even if you're not, you have a long day ahead of you; it would do each of you good to eat up. You won't be getting another meal until we return you to your cells this evening."  
  
The girls obediently rose from their seats and began to follow Lydecker and the few leading guards out of the room, but truth be told, food was the last thing any of them wanted at the moment. 


End file.
